


The One Who Was a Friend

by Neferit



Series: The One [5]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Community: dragonage_kink, F/M, Friendship, Kink Meme, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neferit/pseuds/Neferit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Zevran heard of the Wardens, he had been some minor work not far from Ferelden when the call came. 'Kill the remaining Ferelden Grey Warden', it said. Well, if nothing else, he will leave this world in rather spectacular way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Who Was a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt: "It's year after the battle of Denerim, where the Warden made final sacrifice. Their companions remember the Warden."

The first time Zevran heard of the Wardens, he had been some minor work not far from Ferelden when the call came. _'Kill the remaining Ferelden Grey Warden'_ , it said.

Well, if nothing else, he will leave this world in rather spectacular way.

It showed the fate had rather different way of seeing things, though. He met with the Fereldan Regent, Teyrn Loghain, and his sleazy servant Howe (the man made even his skin crawl, as he watched him - and Zevran was used to being watched). Loghain himself seemed to disdain the option of hiring an assassin to take care of his rivals - but in the end, he just dismissed him with a disgusted scowl, and Zevran sure took the dissmisal seriously, if only not to be close to Howe not a minute too much.

His ambush had been carefully set; he prided himself of planning carefully before he took his hit, every ambush set like an ancient play, and he and his prey the main actors.

This prey, however, showed to be more capable, no matter of his skills that day.

He woke up being tied by ropes, his head aching, to the sight of two boots right in front of his face. He struggled to look up, to see his captors - it showed to be young woman, rather beautiful one at that, watching him impassively. He couldn't help it - the impassiveness seemed so strange on a face like that, he just had make a joke and play some innuendo between the answers she demanded, and was rewarded by quick quirk of her lips.

Not to mention that the fact she released him and actually trusted his promise. It surprised him that someone, a human and a noble, would trust word of elven murderer (he was called that, and actually took pride at being called like that - unlike the times he was called pointy-eared whore). Then she started speaking Antivan to him, asking him more questions about his mission, leaving the rest of this rather colourful company (a qunari, red-haired bard - yes, he recognized one when he saw one - a blushing almost-templar, and a dog) trying to decipher what was being said. She also spoke with only the smallest of accents, making her voice even easier to his hurting head.

Oh yes, the woman surely knew how to land a hit.

She was also rather interesting individual, to say the least. She had a knack for drawing others to her, seemingly without trying. But deep inside, he saw the unsure young girl who had been thrust into world she didn't quite understand, between people she didn't know she could trust - but trusted them nonetheless (if not immediately, then in time), in the middle of events which were completely over her. Yet she acted as the most certain person on the whole of Thedas - only rarely there had been a shadow of doubt showing on her face, mostly when she thought no one could see here, and it was gone in an eye blick. But he knew what to watch for, and he saw.

Part of him was curious about what kind of person their leader was when he first started travelling with them. So, she knew how to issue commands, and could bark them in a way which would put most drill sergeants to shame. She was beautiful, and she obviously knew that - he saw her gazing at her image in small ponds or the mirrors they encountered during their journeys - she would just look, touch her reflection and then, as if realizing something turn away abruptly. She also hated being dirty. No matter how tired she was, she would go to wash herself and brush her clothes up, so she would be clean the next day. When she walked, she would take great care to not step into mud.

It was most hilarious to watch her walking around the tiniest of puddles, he remembered fondly.

He once asked her, why she spared him after he attempted to kill her. At first, she just gazed at him wordlessly, obviously thinking her answer through. "I wanted to know more about Loghain's plans," she offered, the unvoiced _'and you could give me the answers'_ hanging in the air between them.

But he knew that was not enough, and pressed. "You could kill me afterwards."

"That I could," she agreed. "After all, you were an assassin sent after me and Maker knows that after attack at my family castle I sure do not like sudden attacks. But even I can recognize people who want to commit suicide with style, and decided I'll rather keep you as a friend."

 _Suicide_. _Friend_. When he was alone, he spat that word. _Friend_. Friends. Who needs them? Certainly not him - there is no need for friends, who will likely just stab you in the back, once they are sure you trust them. The word wouldn't leave him alone, plaguing his thoughts every time he let his mind wander.

He tried to make it simple one night, only to be shot down with such grace he couldn't really hold it against the Warden, even if he wanted. She didn't stutter, she didn't blush, she just gazed at him, gave him that small smile of hers and thanked him for the offer while declining it. Usually, he would try to make her change her mind - but somehow, with Thea it seemed... innappropriate. He just smiled and offered her place by his side by the fire, and they talked long into the night, changing between language of Ferelden and language of Antiva, both of them talking of what they used to call home, of people they met and who left some impression on them. He told her about the boots he wanted to purchase when he returned from Ferelden, and Thea gave him a mysterious smile before she changed topics to something else.

There were real Antivan boots waiting for him by his bedroll the next day, together with a small note saying _'for job not well done'_. He chuckled, as he read the words, his eyes searching for the Warden, as she was helping to cook the stew for dinner. She truly was like a gem, like Antiva city, like Highever and most undoubtely her mother.

He grew closer to the rest of their companion afterwards; always teasing Wynne about her magic bossom, making fun of Alistair, exchanging insults with Oghren. The dwarf was curious being himself - he seemed to be very simple, but had depths hidden so well it took some time to figure them out. Alistair was pretty easy to figure - were the Blight only up to him, the world would probably be doomed, but once he was given chance to, well, _develop_ for lack of better term, he was able to make miracles happen. Morrigan over there had been unsure otside the wilds that she grew up in - and was trying to hide it behind something he liked to call _bitchtitude_. Leliana obviously thought that pretending her past didn't happen is actually pretty good thing (which he disagreed profoundly). Wynne liked to preach. A lot. It was way too much fun to divert her attention elsewhere. Speaking to Sten was sometimes like speaking to a piece of rock. Shale actually was a piece of rock. The Dog would leave saliva all over his things but at least he wouldn't leave a half-eaten rabbit there.

Not that anyone was to ever find out that it was he who suggested the Dog does that.

Still, out of them all she remained the closest to him, and he did his best to let her know that when she needs a shoulder to lean on, he is here.

Oghren, drunken disgrace of a warrior changed the group dynamics for a moment before they got used to his ways. He was loud, brash and rude but when he was around Thea, he seemed... softer. Like all of them, he soon showed to have hidden depths to his character, and he found himself getting close to the dwarf as well. It was them, who had to nearly drag Thea from the dead body of the murderer of her parents, and it was them who were able to get her from Fort Drakon when she allowed herself to be captured, so they could escape together with the Queen. They were able to pose as famous performers of artistic name Broma Brothers, getting her out of her cell right as a duo of guards had been approaching her crouched and bruised form with that certain gleam in their eyes which made Zevran sick to his stomach. He knew that gleam, and what it hid, and it wasn't anything pleasant. It was no wonder that she was badly shaken by this whole experience, even more so when her sight fell on pile of bodies and she obviously recognized several of the bodies as people she knew back in her home.

She didn't allow herself to rest, her mind filled with frantic urge to set everything in the motion and let herself to be carried with it all, without the need to think everything over.

It still haunted him when he remembered how she looked when they left Redcliffe to march back to Denerim - her form, outwardly proud and tall, inwardly down and tired, eyes looking older than she ever should feel. When she noticed his eyes on her, she gave him a small smile and called him to her with a small gesture. "I've got something for you," she told him, reaching to her pack to pull a small package out. Inside had been pair of beautifully embroidered Dalish gloves, and it struck him how she remembered him mentioning having similar pair when he was young. Those were comfortable and fitted him - well, like a glove, so he kept them on as they charged the city.

It was so very strange to hold her lifeless form to him after the Archdemon was struck down, his hands, still wrapped in those gloves, smeared by her blood.

Now, year after that fateful day he pulled all the gifts he ever received from her from the small box he kept them in and thought about the times she gifted them to him. Several bars of prescious metals. The boots. The gloves. Small bottle of expensive Antivan brandy. With a small chuckle he raised the bottle in quiet salute.

"For you, my dear Warden," he thought, "and the symphony I saw in thee." And somewhere, he thought he heard the Warden laugh, her laughter ringing like small bells.


End file.
